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| Artist: Sandra Kuck (Mother's Touch) |
She is a vision to behold. Long dark hair frames a beautiful face noted
for its aristocratic cheekbones and mesmerising eyes. She walks with confidence and elegance marks
every movement of her lithe limbs. A
smile touches the corners of her sensual mouth, yet – it seldom reaches her
eyes.
Here
is a woman who has survived a brutal war and shows no signs of the effect the period in the concentration camp had on her.
She lost her parents and two brothers in the war, took what was left and
bought a new farm in the Cape – away from everything that reminded her of that
time.
She
is the woman in his dreams – with the sad song on her lips and murderous
eyes. The man clenches his fists. It cannot be possible. He thought she died …
“Good
morning Schalk. I see you are also
admiring the widow.”
“Widow?”
The
rotund little man laughs. “Yes. Lost her husband in the war. Only she and her daughter survived the war.”
“I
thought … she was British …”
“Let
me introduce you.”
“Mrs.
Grobler, please meet my friend, Schalk Du Toit.
He was one of Smuts’ men during the war.
A true hero.”
The
beautiful woman holds out her hand, a Mona Lisa smile on her face. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Du Toit.”
Schalk
Du Toit forces himself to take her hand, bends slightly and let his lips float
over the soft fabric of her gloves. “The
pleasure is mine …” It is hard to meet
her eyes.
“Is
everything all right, Mr Du Toit?”
Schalk
straightens. “Yes. I am sorry. It is just – I thought you were British.”
Her
laugh is throaty and sensual. “Whatever
would give you that idea?” She flicks
the train of her white gown out of the way, when she turns, hand on his arm, as
he leads her to the refreshment table.
The fact that you were dressed to the nines
and in the company of two British officers … But off course he cannot say
that. In stead he smiled. “Leroy tells me you have a daughter?”
“Yes.” Her eyes lit up for the first time. “She is one and a half years old. Truly a gift from God.”
Schalk
forces his legs to walk and his knees not to buckle. One and a half year! Exactly eighteen months. “I see.
How did you come to live in the Cape?”
“I
lost everything in the war.
Everything. I know only farming,
you know. So I started a new life far
away from … from the war and everything that reminded me of what I lost.”
“Amongst
the enemy …” He hands her a cup of tea.
She
turns towards him. “Enemy. Such a simple word for such a difficult
concept. Who is the enemy Mr Du Toit?”
“I
am sorry. My remark was in poor taste.
The war is over. You lost your husband …”
“I
have never been married.”
The
world crashes in around the handsome Boer.
He stared at her.
“I
never said or told anyone that I was married.
Everybody chooses to assume I was married, because I have a daughter. I was raped, Mr Du Toit. By a Boer.
Not the enemy, so to speak … So
for all practical purposes I am not living amongst the enemy. ”
Schalk
Du Toit stares at the brave woman in front of him. Shame washes over him in torrents of scalding
hot and icy cold waves. Never could
anyone during the war say that he was a coward.
On the contrary.
His
voice is soft and tortured. “I am so
very sorry, Miss Grobler. So sorry …”
She
smiles. “Why? Everybody lost something in the war. Someone told me you lost your wife, that she
was also raped, by English soldiers. ”
“She
lost our baby … died in my arms. And I
thought I took revenge. Did you ever
found the … man who raped you?” It took
more courage than ever in his life not to break down and cry. All he wanted to do was to kneel in front of
this woman and ask her forgiveness. But
her eyes, her whole demeanour forbids him to act in such an uncivilized manner.
“Revenge
Mr Du Toit, is never as sweet as it is purported to be. It was dark and I was terrified. I was in the
company of two enemy soldiers, who escorted me to a concentration camp. He killed them. If not for that my baby would have died in
the camps. I fled and lived out the last months of the war in the mountains.”
But how is it possible, that even in my
drunken state I can remember every plane of your face? He clears his throat.
“I
would love to meet your daughter.”
“You are invited for tea
tomorrow afternoon. We shall look
forward to your company Mr. Du Toit.”
For the rest of his life
he would regret his cowardice.
Even on their wedding
day, he could not bring himself to tell her.
For the rest of his life
he would be punished every time his daughter smiled at him, not knowing that
she was his!
For the rest of his life Rebecca du Toit, formerly Grobler, will be the ghost haunting his dreams with a sad song and murderous eyes.
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| Found on blogtruyen.me |
"There's a wind inside of me that remembers. Sometimes in breaths, sometimes in hurricanes."
- Maza Dohta
